All of the detail photos shown below are taken from the backs of 19th century piece constructed silk under-kimono, which are called either juban or aigi.

The term yose refers to something being pieced together.   The skill at hand stitching  shown in these photos is extraordinary if you consider how the pieces join in perfectly straight lines and are detailed in very tight angles.  Just look.

Keep in mind that the dyes used to color these silks are botanical: oranges are reds are from safflower or benibana, purples are from gromwell root or shikon, blues and greens are derived from indigo or ai.

I’m showing three boro aprons and two tsunobukuro, or “horn” bags; tsunobukuro are referred to by this name because the top of the bags have two points, or so-called “horns.”

The two aprons on the bottom of the photo above are made of indigo dyed hemp; the top apron is made of a variety of indigo dyed cotton kasuri cloth which has been beautifully and crudely stitched together.

This magnificently and richly patched boro apron is a marvel, and it is one of my favorite pieces here at Sri.  It is made entirely of small fragments of indigo dyed hemp cloth, most of which are koshi, or checked.  The layers of cloth and the radically crude stitching–not to mention the color–add up to make this a jewel of a boro textile.  Hard to dispute.

Imagine that the textures of this apron are very much that of hemp cloth; most likely these fragments are from the nineteenth century.  The stitching–which is eccentric, intense and all-over–is done with white cotton thread.

This is an unusual tsunobukuro because it is made of katazome dyed hemp cloth: very often tsunobukuro are made of undyed hemp.  This one has been dyed in the stencil resist, katazome method.  This bag comes to us from Nambu, in the very remote Aomori Prefecture, the northernmost area on Honshu island.

The inside of the bag is shown in order to highlight the beautiful patches and stitching.

Tsunobukuro are made from one length of cloth that has been twisted and sewn on the bias.  Most likely, tsunobukuro were used for storage.

Bashofu, or cloth woven from yarn obtained from fibers of the leaf bases of the Musa balbisiana, a variety of banana tree, is the cultural signifier of the people of Okinawa, both internally and from abroad.  Bashofu in varying grades was worn by everyone in Okinawa since the sixteenth century, from the impoverished who would wear garments of bashofu rags to the ruling class who would wear kimono of the rarest quality, woven with the most extravagant patterns.  Although Musa balbisiana is not native to Okinawa, its cloth is now synonymous with the Okinawan archipelago.

Bashofu is a highly collectible cloth and it is extremely distinctive in appearance and texture.  Because it is woven from fibers taken from leaves, it is not considered a bast fiber like hemp, ramie or wisteria, but rather it is thought of as a leaf fiber.

This is a child’s kimono, with modified, semi-”Western” sleeves; note that the shoulders are darted and the waistline is tacked up: this is due to two factors: the standard loom width is too wide for a child’s shoulders and therefore they are modified without cutting the cloth; likewise, the length is drawn up so as the child grows the length can adjusted, again, without cutting precious cloth.  The closure for this small kimono is made from two long white cotton pieces which was tied as a kind of sash.

This bashofu child’s kimono is dyed in the kasuri or ikat method which produces the repeat pattern seen on this small, gorgeous thing.  This is a warp kasuri, meaning only the “vertical” threads are dyed.

Getting into the kasuri (ikat) traditions of Okinawa and their impact on the development of Japanese kasuri weaving is a vouminous study–too complex to get into here–but suffice it to say that for centuries the mainland Japanese admired Okinawan cloth. The Japanese ikat weaving was directly affected by Okinawan patterns and concepts, especially as adapted by the asa weaving traditions of omi jofu and echigo jofu.

To this day, the Japanese admiration of Okinawan textile traditions is unabated, and for centuries Japan has borrowed much from the weavers of Okinawa.

A kotatsu is a kind of brazier that was centrally placed in the Japanese house; in the olden days, it was the only source of heat in Japanese homes.  To provide direct heat and comfort, an armature would be placed over the brazier and a blanket, or kotatsugake, would be placed over this heater and family members would sit around the brazier with their lower bodies tucked under the kotatsugake.  Kotatsugake are still very much a part of Japanese society these days, however now they are electric and thus there is no need for the kotatsu.

This fabulous kotatsugake is wildly rich with sashiko stitches and large, cotton patches.  The thing itself is sewn from many layers of recycled cotton clothing; it is quite heavy.  Note the wonderful, oversized, resist dyed plum blossom that dominates the top, center of the kotatsugake.

Unusual is the change of direction of the rows of sashiko stitching: notice the ‘mitered’ corner effect created by two converging directions of sashiko.

The size of this kotatsugake is  61″ x 53″, 155 cm x 135 cm, which is a fairly standard size.  Sakiori ‘rugs’ were, in fact, kotatsugake, not rugs, however it is more convenient to refer to them as rugs since this has become their current function, especially in Western interiors.

The reverse side of this piece is equally beautiful to the side discussed above.  I’m thrilled to have this piece, which I think is a superb example of a sashiko stitched kotatsugake.

From my last trip to Japan–I returned to New York about two weeks ago–I brought back this wonderful, silk brocade, late eighteenth century kesa: a kesa is a Buddhist priest’s garment, whose origin is the ragged, mendicant garb worn by the historical Buddha and his disciples.  As is popular knowledge, the Buddha renounced worldly things and begged for food to survive; his clothing, too, reflected his renunciation of the world.

As you can see from this kesa, Buddhism flourished and changed as time went on, and so did the “original” kesa, whose name is derived from the Sanskrit, kashaya, which means, to some extent, ‘colorless.’  It is a self-effacing word.  Latter day kesas from  China, Korea and Japan, were hardly self-effacing: ragged kesas were transformed into regal garments of prestige and power–and were made of the finest cloth, usually luxurious, silk brocades.  They were still, however, stitched from pieces of cloth, albeit golden silks of the highest quality.

Of the many things that I like about this particular kesa, chief among them is its eccentricity–look at the unusual combination of cloth and the mixture of the scale of pattern across the surface of this garment.  Often, silk kesa are beautifully symmetrical and emit an air of inapproachability, probably owing something to the sanctity of ceremony and ritual to which they attend.

This kesa, on the other hand, has charm; it has wear; it seems to have belonged to a small temple in a small city; it has a kind of home made look and lacks the ulta-sophistication of a rich “city” kesa: note the combination of many different kinds of silks; it even seems that some of the end pieces from the bolt of brocade are used to make this gorgeous thing (I’m referring to the fragments of cloth that are made of multi-colored, stacked rectangles).

The border pieces show roundels that depict a stylized phoenix, a sacred Buddhist symbol brought to Japan from China.  Most likely the luxurious cloth used to make this kesa was donated to the temple by the congregation or by a rich donor family.

The kesa is meant to be sewn in a meditative way using specific stitches and imbued with good intentions. The act of sewing a kesa was thus considered a devotional pursuit. Receiving the kesa, because it symbolized Buddhist teaching, was an important part of the ordination ceremony for a Buddhist priest.

I’ve listed this kesa on my site this week, so have a look at the entry there to learn a bit more about this one.  My other site entries on kesa are here, and if you follow that link, you’ll find a bit more information on these beautiful, antique garments.